Severus Snape and the Hair-ologist
by AnotherAldebaran
Summary: When Severus Snape is forced by Lucius to visit the Malfoys' Hair-ologist, he never expected his life to be turned upside down this way... AU, post-war short story about wishes and dreams and what may happen if the Fae get involved. Now complete!
1. The First Appointment

**A/N:** While I'm working on editing the next part of _Turning Time_, this odd little story showed up. I'm going to post it as I go, not edit a lot, and we'll just have to see where it ends up although it won't be very long.

\- AA

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**The First Appointment**

I have never cared about my hair, but Lucius of the Luscious Locks insisted. He all but dragged me to the tiny storefront on a side street right on the edge of the magical quarters of York, put a piece of parchment in my hand and pushed me through the door. Narcissa and him had undergone a bit of a revival in recent years, of their marriage, their social status and their hair, and they both swore up, down and sideways that it was all thanks to their Hair-ologist.

The years after the War have been tough in many ways, although I had never expected any different. It was just... difficult in ways I hadn't imagined. Being in a coma for several months after the battle at Hogwarts meant I missed most of the commotion, and when I woke up it was to find my name cleared with the Wizengamot and a vial of my memories beside my bed.

I left Hogwarts. I couldn't face it any longer. Instead I opened a small apothecary on Horizont Alley, just off Diagon Alley. The location was good but as the Wizarding world was hit by a severe recession, partly due to the cost of rebuilding Hogwarts, partly due to the Ministry basically ceasing to function, with at least two thirds of its employees being let go, business dwindled to a trickle. I survived, anyway, off the occasional order for Pepper-Up and some brewing for St Mungo's, but it was far from glamorous. Not that I cared. I was finally free.

The doorbell jingles as I enter the small room. There is a counter desk near the door, some shelves by the far wall, a visitor's sofa and a chair clearly for whatever work the Hair-ologist does. The room is dark, with a couple of old-fashioned lamps giving some light but not enough to see well. Everything looks vaguely Muggle but there are hints of magic here and there, such as the wards I felt over my skin as I entered, the shimmer of a Notice-Me-Not charm over the far wall most likely hiding a door, and the sad and slightly wilting specimens of Asphodel and Dittany in the window.

I don't notice when the Hair-ologist enters but she must have while I was inspecting the room, as suddenly she is standing in front of the old-fashioned black hairdresser's chair. I can't make out her features. She is wearing drab, nondescript robes in a dark grey with hints of brown, and her face appears to be cloaked in shadows. Her hair is probably brown and stands out from her head almost like a halo, the curls almost seeming to move by themselves. I can't feel a Glamour but she must have worn one. A witch, that much was certain.

She gestures towards the chair and I take a few steps forward, stopping in front of her. She still is not looking straight at me, I can tell that much.

"Unfortunately I cannot see you, but please have a seat." Her voice is melodic and light, speaking in classic English R.P. making it impossible to make out any local accent.

Well, that explains part of it. I take another few steps and sink down in the chair which adjusts itself to my body with subtle charms, making it incredibly comfortable. There is no mirror in front of the chair. If the window had been cleaner, or clearer, one could have looked at the rather dull street while seated.

She tilts the chair back a bit and lowers it slightly to give herself better access, and soon I feel a small hand touching my head. I shiver involuntarily; it has been so long since anyone willingly touched me. She puts one hand on my forehead and lets the other trail down the back of my head to collect my hair in her hand, making me embarrassed for its perpetual state of greasiness due to the Potions fumes I always was around.

"Professor...!" she gasps, her hands still in my hair.

I freeze. I didn't recognise the witch but of course chances are I had taught her at some point, if she had gone to Hogwarts. She recognises me, though, and would obviously not want me as her customer. I can't bear it, the scorn, the disgust that was sure to follow, my reputation preceding me wherever I go. It was still an issue for my business but there I could capitalise on it, people coming to gawk at me and leaving with a couple of vials, although the amount of such customers had lessened over the years. Scowling and embarrassed I rise to leave, but she holds me back with two small but determined hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I don't know what came over me, I don't know anyone in this world and wouldn't know to address someone by that title anyway. Please, please don't go."

She sounds nervous, almost, and I still don't recognise her voice. Her hands have slid down a bit from my shoulders, resting on the top part of my pectorals.

"What do you mean, you don't know anyone?"

"I don't," she says slowly. "I don't know you, I don't know anyone. I think I used to, but not any more. I think I wasn't always blind, either. It is all lost to me."

"Talk sense," I snap, still on edge. "Miss...?"

I can sense her shaking her head behind me. "Enough about me, this is about you. I'm terribly sorry if I startled you, it wasn't my intention. Will you stay?"

"Tell me your name, please," I ask but relax into the chair again.

She shakes her head again. "Nothing... I am no one. Call me Cecilia or Deirdre, if you must."

I think about it. The meaning of Cecilia was _blind_, which obviously fit but wasn't very nice, and Deirdre was a name that implied sorrow or fear but it seemed too common, too plain for her.

"Cessair?" I offer, another Irish name meaning sorrowful.

I think she is smiling at me. "That works, as well. I shall call you Brennus. Please, relax."

She gets to work while I contemplate the name she has chosen for me. I think it is related to the word raven but there was something else niggling at the back of my mind as well regarding it. After a while I notice she has started humming while setting up a small rolling cart and a basin of water, heated with a quick wave of her hand. She has brought out several vials and bowls and put them on the cart but I don't see any labels.

"What is it you do, exactly?" I ask her.

The humming stops abruptly. "Oh... well, one could say I am a facilitator. I listen to the story your hair tells me, and try to help right any wrongs."

I snort but something about her makes me refrain from saying something scathing. Maybe it was the hand on my shoulder, close to my neck.

She has apparently finished preparing whatever it was she needed. With a hand firmly on the back of my head she lowers the back of the chair and raises the footrest, causing me to lie almost prone. I tense, I must admit. She puts a thin towel over my chest, to protect my clothes I assume.

"Lean back, I've got you," she murmurs close to my ear, and when I let my head fall back I felt the edge of the bowl supporting me. Her breath on my earlobe has given me goosebumps all the way down to my knee.

"I'll wash your hair first. Please close your eyes."

I can't stifle the groan that arises from my throat when she starts massaging my scalp, having poured warm water over my hair from a jug. It is divine. She has added something to the water, herbs and some oils of some kind, and I recognise Gingko Biloba, Fluxweed, rose oil, basil, but then the sensations of her fingers and nails dragging over my scalp take over again and I lose track, most unusual for a Potions Master. My thoughts start drifting, from Hogwarts to Albus to my mother and back via the Death Eaters. Her hands take me back to a more innocent time, where my Ma would sometimes help me wash my hair in a bucket in the kitchen or my Da would ruffle my hair and clap me over the shoulder. Before he lost his job and took it all out on us. She pours water over my head several times, sometimes warm and sometimes colder, jolting my thoughts into new paths with the sensations in my scalp.

Some time much later I surface again, when she is returning the chair to a more upright position. Had I fallen asleep? Her hand still rests on my shoulder.

"There, now I know what you need. May I trim it for you?"

I nod wordlessly, not caring what she does as long as she continues. She starts humming again as she combs my hair out, taking care to work out any snags. She begins cutting with regular scissors but I feel her magic washing over me as well, a wandless Charm I can't identify. I close my eyes again as she works and try to work out who she might be. I want to crack that, the mystery of her identity. She must be a former student but I haven't taught for well over seven years. Did the war mark her, cause her blindness? I am quite certain I haven't had a blind student that would fit the circumstances, so it must have happened after she left Hogwarts.

Her hands go still in my hair. "If you want, I could blend you a shampoo that would help you," she says quietly.

I frown. Help, how? My perpetually greasy hair? After a moment's consideration, I nod. "May I watch what you do?"

She freezes in turn and I stay still, as if trying to appease a wild animal. Calm, no sudden movements, even tone of voice.

"No..." she says finally. "I cannot, at this point. It would be ready for you tomorrow, Master Brennus. Will you come back?"

"If you allow it," I say, slightly disappointed but hopefully hiding it.

She removes the towels and raises the chair fully upright, clearly a signal for me to rise. I do so reluctantly.

"What do I owe you?" I ask, fishing for my pouch of Galleons in one of my outer robe pockets. Lucius hadn't mentioned prices, he never does, I don't think he notices what things cost. This, however, would be worth it. Another thought struck. "And how do I set up another appointment?"

She shakes her head again and starts rooting around in one of the drawers behind the counter. "That is irrelevant. Here," she says, thrusting a small round disk at me. I took it and turned it over, slightly confused to see it is just a brass disk, slightly larger than a coin. There were some runes etched near the edge of it but they didn't resolve into anything I recognised.

"Tap this with your wand and think of your request," she said, as if that explained anything. "I will notice. If the disk heats up, I will have accepted your request."

I leave a heap of Galleons on the counter, anyway, not counting them out. She disregards them.

The Hair-ologist follows me to the door. "Thank you for coming, Master Brennus."

I stumble out in a daze, into the drab November drizzle. When I turn to look I think I see her face through the window, but it is probably just a reflection.


	2. What Just Happened

I make it back home, I don't know how. I live above the shop and lab nowadays, having sold the apartment in Cokeworth to invest all my Galleons into the shop. Lab and workshop in the basement, then the store and storage rooms on the ground floor, then the flat above. It's small but it works.

I can still feel her hands in my scalp, on my shoulders. At some point I must have dragged my hand through my hair. The texture is… different. Silky and smooth, with none of the oily residue from brewing and no kinks or snarls. Going to the bathroom I have to hold on to the doorframe when seeing myself in the mirror. My hair looks fresh and bold and shining. The cut is even and something reflected in my face, making the harsh lines from fifteen years' worth of headaches over having to teach thoughtless dunderheads, less noticeable.

Frowning I turn away from the image, from the false promises of youth and vitality. I end up Summoning the bottle of expensive cognac I got from Lucius last Christmas, and spend way too long in my armchair by the fireplace, trying to make sense of everything.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Rising the next morning is a bit of a challenge, and it is a good thing I set my own schedule. I end up being late but don't exactly expect many customers, business has been slow lately. The recession and inept government had hit hard. Still, I have a contract to complete for St Mungo's and a few brews to check, and I spend a few hours down in the lab. It surprises me to see a few customers come in during lunch hour, asking for simple — and cheap — cough remedies, Pepper-Up and Cure for Boils. Better than the last few weeks, at any rate.

I don't usually bother with lunch but today I fix a few sandwiches and then close the shop to head to the Owl Post Office since I don't own a bird myself. For some reason several wizards nod at me as I stalk down Diagon Alley, and a couple of witches follow me with their gaze. It is disconcerting, being noticed, and even more so when no one seems hostile.

The owl is summarily dispatched to Lucius and I return to the shop. A few more customers actually show up before the end of the day, and I manage to send off the St Mungo's order.

After closing I finger the brass disk, still in my pocket, and focus on the question. _Can I come over?_ In return the disk heats up after a moment, and I get a flash of something similar to relief through it when I hold the disk. Was it her feelings or my own? I am not sure.

No matter what, I set off, feeling a lot more invested in the trip than the last time. To my surprise the door is locked but the Hair-ologist moves to open it as soon as she notices me trying to enter.

"I have your shampoo, Master Brennus," she says and moves around the counter to take a jar from a shelf. She puts it in front of me. "Is there anything more?"

"What happened to you?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

She flinches and shies away from me. "I cannot remember," she says quietly after a long moment.

I don't understand my daring and where the words come from. They're not me. "May I see you again?"

She freezes. I still can't see her face but I would have imagined her looking up at me with wide eyes, mouth half open. "Would you?"

I nod and then feel stupid when I realise she wouldn't see it. "Yes. If I may."

She tilts her head to the side, I can tell by the way her hair moves. "Come next week, then. Use the shampoo but don't wash too often, every second day at most. Leave it in for five minutes and then rinse with colder water, not freezing, just a little colder than body temperature."

I don't manage to get her to answer any other questions that may lead to insight into her background, and after a rather awkward interaction I cut my losses and leave.

Rather than going back home, there is another location that comes to mind. I focus, and let the pull of Apparition whisk me away.

The Manor looms as it ever has beyond the long row of hedges. The white peacocks are back, the trees and hedges and lawns are immaculately sculpted, and the building itself appears pristine. Dignified, perhaps, the scars of war and strife no longer visible but clearly there, behind the surface. Not painted over but healed and changed. As if the experience has made them a better person.

I shake my head with a snort to stop this weird comparison of the Manor to a person. Still, it is noticeable. Coming here during the height of the War was a horrible experience, and it took a long time before the inhabitants were strong enough themselves to do something about it. They removed the dungeons immediately and a few of the rooms were completely redone, but the other traces lingered for longer.

I trudge up the marble stairs to the front entrance and ring the bell. A haughty-looking elf in a pristine white strip of cloth draped like a toga opens the door.

"Yes?"

"Is Lucius in?"

The elf tilts his head on the side and appears to be listening to something. "Yes. You wait in small parlour, Master of Potions. I tells Master."

I nod and head for the small parlour, down the hallway to the right. Another elf pops in with a snifter of cognac from Lucius' French estates. While I wait I wander over to the window, looking out over the flower gardens now filled with a treasure trove of rare magical flowers. Most of them had no practical purpose but a few were useful for potions, and I make a mental note to ask about them later.

The Lord of the Manor shows up a few minutes later, clad in formal powder-blue robes, his platinum blonde hair even longer than last time I saw him. When was that? I try to recall our last meeting — before him dragging me to the Hair-ologist — but fail.

"Severus, I didn't expect you."

His smile widens into a grin when he spots my hair, and I scowl reflexively.

"Spur of the moment. Did I interrupt something important?"

Lucius shrugs elegantly. "Nothing much. What brings you here? Dinner?"

Well, why not. "Well, why not. And I wanted a word with you, and perhaps with Cissy. How is Draco these days?"

Lucius smiles a bit more genuinely and gestures at me to precede him as we walk to the French dining room in the East wing. "He's well, he's headed to Paris soon. Did you hear he's planning to go into perfumes?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? No, that has passed me by. How come?"

"Oh, ever since he started going to the Hair-ologist he's become interested in perfumes, and now he feels confident enough in trying it himself. He's going to work with some of the best magical perfumers in Paris, so he's elated."

A pang of black jealousy blossoms in my chest before I get my feelings back under control, even though that doesn't make sense. Of course Draco would visit her, of course she has other customers. The Malfoys dragged me there, for Merlin's sake.

"So, tell me, what did you think? How was your appointment?"

"Oddly illuminating," I manage eventually.

He nods and gestures at the double doors to the French dining room. They open silently, and the table is already set with an extra plate for me. Narcissa is there already, and we perform the usual greetings, as one should. These two are the closest I have to friends and yet we still end up with this stilted formality. All that Pure-blood breeding needs somewhere to go, I guess.

"I see you visited our Hair-ologist," Narcissa says with a smile, eyeing my hair.

"Well, Lucius all but dragged me there, so yes. What do you know of her?"

Lucius shrugged. "Narcissa was the one to first find her, naturally, and we've been going for about three years now. She's been… Merlin, Severus, I don't know how to explain it, but she's completely overhauled both of our lives, and Draco's too. She's given us our lives back. At first it was the small things, we started taking care of ourselves better, then the Manor and our marriage, and then it even spilled over to our public relationships. She's the reason I'm back in society's good graces now, Severus. I'm just finishing the last few touches of my campaign to get back on the Hogwarts board, I got my Wizengamot seat back and business is going well."

I frown. It sounds too good to be true. "Lucius, that sounds too good to be true. Why on Earth would that be attributable to the Hair-ologist?"

Narcissa, who usually is calm, serene and collected, butts in. "Severus, it is true. She's changed our lives completely, I don't have any grey hairs any longer and am even accepted back to Augusta Longbottom's monthly afternoon teas."

My eyebrow hikes up on its own. All wizards know that the Wizarding world is actually ruled via tea invitations, much like these, not from the Ministry or the Wizengamot. Augusta Longbottom has been one of the core players for at least half a century.

"Well, that is something, for sure." I have to concede the point. If Augusta Longbottom accepted Narcissa Black Malfoy, she was most definitely out of the cold. She had been shunned after the botched Ministry raid two years before… before the beginning of the end, and that had lasted even after the end of the War. "But what can you tell me about _her?_ The Hair-ologist?"

Lucius frowns and Narcissa looks confused.

"Well, I've never really concerned myself with that," Narcissa says. "It was actually Pansy Parkinson who gave me her name, and she in turn had heard of the Hair-ologist from the youngest Weasley, Mrs Potter now. She's very discerning, the Hair-ologist, and only accepts new customers if another vouches for them."

"You don't even know her name?"

Blank stares meet me and luckily the elves appear with dinner, excellent as usual. I lose track of the soufflés and gratins and baked fish, and we talk about other things while eating. Of course the Malfoys wouldn't bother to learn anything about the people who served them. At least I have a few more leads now, Pansy Parkinson and Ginevra Weasley Potter may be more forthcoming.

When I finally return back home I have to salvage one brew that had been left too long on the flame, and prepare two others for St Mungo's tomorrow for an emergency order that came in while I was at the Manor, and I settle in for a long night of brewing. I do bind my hair back with a leather string, feeling oddly mindful of the work _she_ has put into it.

Even later that night a thought strikes me, just as I am about to fall asleep. The name she gave me. Brennus. The meaning of it is raven… or prince.

Thoughts of her hands through my hair lull me to sleep.


	3. Seeking Clues

I go about my business as usual, I think, but something is changing anyway. I do wash my hair again two days after seeing her, after eating a sloppy dinner in my flat, and I do follow her instructions to the letter. Naturally I try to figure out what she put in there, I do have a nose after all. I can make out several herbs, magical and not, and what I think is moondew extract. There are several notes that elude me, however, and I both relish in the challenge to work it out and feel annoyed at being bested by a mere slip of a witch in the realm where I have a Mastery.

My attention feels split, torn between work and other such ideas, new research, another meeting at St Mungo's resulting in an agreement to trial a Memory Potion on the one hand, and on the other the mystery of the Hair-ologist. Who is she, where did she come from, what does she actually do with her clients? Why the Glamour to her face, why the blindness? Why won't she say, or can't she say?

A few days after Malfoy Manor I manage to arrange a visit with Pansy Parkinson. She works at the _Daily Prophet _after her failed engagement to Martinus Selwyn. The wizard ran off with a busty blonde from the States and she still has to care for her mother and little sister since no one else does after the War.

We meet for lunch at a café not far from their office, and I snag a table in a corner.

"Hello, Professor," she says and seems to do a double-take upon laying her eyes on me. She's dressed in purple robes in a businesslike cut but the hems are frayed and the fabric worn and slightly faded. Clearly life hasn't been treating her well since the War.

I scowl, as usual, but nod at her in greeting. "Miss Parkinson."

"You look well," she says, eyes still fixed on my hair.

"And you." I suspect we both know it for the lie it is, but even I am not completely immune to social necessities. Occasionally. "How is Aster?"

Aster, her sister, started Hogwarts during my time as Headmaster. I knew she was sorted into Slytherin but I never interacted much with her. A shy but clever girl, at least that was what she seemed to be at eleven. Dark hair, like her sister.

Miss Parkinson smiled but it didn't reach very far. "She's doing well. She's due to leave Hogwarts this summer."

"Ah. And what does she want to do afterwards?"

"She isn't sure yet… she was talking about Herbology or Healing but I don't think she has the stamina for it, and her grades in Potions weren't good enough."

I nod. Luckily our food arrives, a pasta bolognese for me, a chicken salad for her. I don't know Aster Parkinson well enough to offer any advice, and her older sister doesn't ask.

"How is the _Prophet_ these days?"

She grimaces. "It's hard, you know. The Ministry… something's wrong with it. I guess we all thought things would go alright now after the War ended but it hasn't really, has it?"

I nod again. Something is indeed wrong. The Minister seems to push the same Pure-blood bullshit agenda as the Imperio'd Pius Thicknesse put in place during the height of the War, although a bit more subtly. Higher taxes depending on blood status. Registrations and permits and fines. Business initiatives are strangled and Ministry workers' wages are cut. Kingsley, Shacklebolt that is, had been interim Minister for about a year but was pushed out by the old guard who instead voted in Peasegood. The man was largely unknown to the larger crowd and used to work as an Obliviator if I'm not mistaken.

"How's your own business, Professor?"

I shrug. "Well enough. There are still orders coming in from St Mungo's, and the occasional straggler dropping by to buy Pepper-Up."

Miss Parkinson has finished eating. "That's not why you asked me to lunch, is it, Professor?"

"No… no it wasn't. Miss Parkinson, what do you know of the Hair-ologist in York?"

Miss Parkinson looks surprised, eyes wide and mouth half open, and then she grins. "Ah, I _knew_ it! There was something different about you, Professor, but that explains it. You've been to see her?"

I nod, a bit annoyed by her not answering my question, and raise an eyebrow. It is still efficient, even years after leaving Hogwarts, and she collects herself.

"Well, I saw her three years ago, over a few months. It was Ginny who told me about her. At first I wanted to, I don't know, make myself pretty for Martinus, but then in the end… well, you probably know the story. I sort of knew already and I think what I really wanted, deep down, was to find out the truth. After he left I… stopped going."

"What do you know of the Hair-ologist?"

Miss Parkinson shrugged. "Nothing much, really. Guess I never thought about it? She was good at what she did, and that was that. Maybe I ought to seek her out again."

She fails to produce any more details, or even any interest in the witch herself. Grumbling inwardly I thank her anyway, pay for our meals and drop her off at the _Daily Prophet__'s_ office.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

The Potters are my next target but they're a bit harder to catch, it seems. Both of them took up Quidditch a few years after the War and are now playing on the same team as Chaser and Seeker, respectively. To my annoyance I drown in orders from St Mungo's and don't have time to go Potter-hunting. Of course it's a good thing that business is going well, but I don't have time for this.

One weekday evening a few days later I wander down Diagon Alley again, heading for the giant WWW sign.

"Professor!" The remaining Weasley twin was apparently just about to close the store when I turn the handle. "Come in, come in."

He goes to shake my hand and I quickly put up a small shield charm around my hand.

"Ow! Well played, Professor." As I thought, he had a small gadget in his hand that would have Stunned mine, but now it rebounded onto himself.

I raise an eyebrow. "That one was old even when I grew up, Weasley. Do you have a moment?"

Weasley nods and ushers me in. "Certainly. I've been meaning to talk to you, you know. About business opportunities. I just never managed to get around to it. Come in, we can order some food, I need dinner."

Well, I would never eat something Weasley cooked in his own kitchen, but take-away could work.

We end up ordering Indian, and I scan everything twice for curses, hexes, pranks or otherwise before touching anything. He does manage to get me with a hiccup hex on the door handle to the loo, but is quick to provide the counter when I hex his boots for him, making them dance. I do end the hex but tell him they may break out in a twirl or skip or something whenever he thinks of hexing me again. He grins and calls for a truce.

Weasley — this one, the remaining ear-less twin — is almost Slytherin in his thinking sometimes. It both unsettles and encourages me.

"How's business?" I ask, forestalling his question.

He frowns and rubs the side of his nose. "Bad, Snape. I don't get it. The Ministry is talking about restricting our business hours and making us register all our products, essentially shutting it down. I don't understand their motivation for it, it's as if they want people to be sad, poor and unhappy."

I nod. I don't understand it either but something is up.

He twirls his wand at the kitchen and a kettle starts boiling. I idly wonder if he's learnt that from Molly, or if it is something he discovered when living alone.

"Is there anything else you can think of? Something that strikes you as odd, after the end of the War?"

He shrugs but thinks about it while the tea is steeping. "Not sure, to be honest. Well, I thought Harry would do something more with his life. He was on track to become an Auror, you know, before dropping out. Alright, Quidditch is good but it's not… I thought he'd have more drive. Ron is, well, Ron. He's doing a decent job running the business, you know of our branch in Hogsmeade, and the pair of them is always in the media, you know, the two Golden Heroes that took out old Voldy. It doesn't seem right, there's something off about that picture."

Yes, he's right in that. Not a week goes by without their ugly mugs in the _Prophet_. "What about your sister?"

"Well, she always wanted to play Quidditch professionally so that makes more sense, I get the feeling she's in the right spot, you know? They're in town next week I think, her and Harry. Some wedding or other, I asked if they were staying at the Burrow but they're staying at Grimmauld. Horrible place but they've started to get it fixed up."

I nod and try not to think of Weasleys, or Potters. Too much of that and my ears start to itch. "So, business? What was it you wanted to discuss?"

Weasley grins and Summons a stack of parchments, wordlessly. He and his twin were pretty decent students, all things considered. They certainly had creativity, and raw talent, they just didn't care much about rules even when they were for their own safety.

"Well, you see, Snape, we have some ideas for new products that are based on potions. Now I could do them myself but some need tweaking, and I get the feeling you're better at that than I am. If you're interested we could collaborate, I'd even give you a royalty on the sold products."

"Thirty percent," I say without inflection.

He gasps theatrically, eyes sparkling. "I was thinking more like five. Are you trying to push me out of my own business?"

I shrug and we start haggling, ending up at twenty percent, ten if his own brewers take over the rote brewing, and I retain all the rights to the patent.

I come away from dinner with a full stomach, a notebook full of product ideas and a nagging feeling of having forgotten something. Someone?


	4. Why Are You

I don't understand this. My hair is better, admittedly. I follow her advice and wash it every second day at most, despite my misgivings at first, and I do remember to tie it back when brewing. It still doesn't make sense. Why would such a small change make such a large difference in the rest of my life? Orders keep coming in, customers too, I should probably hire someone to man the store soon if this continues. People nod at me in the streets. I went back to Weasley a few days ago, and the cashier even smiled and thanked me for my sacrifices during the War.

I go back to her again, a week after the first appointment. It is strange. As she instructed, I use the disc to focus on my wish to see her. Not long after, it heats up.

When I try the door it is unlocked. I enter and she comes in from the back room. Somehow I get the impression she's happy to see me, but that cannot be right, can it? No one's ever been happy to see me, not even my own mother when I was a boy. Yet here she is. I still don't see her face behind the obstructing Glamour but I think she would have been smiling.

"Master Brennus, welcome back," she says. It sounds sincere.

"Thank you… Cessair," I say. The name is not right, but she needs something unusual. She's not an Anna or Marie or Susan.

She gestures for me to sit in the chair again and I comply, more willingly than the previous week. She tilts the chair back and once again begins the elaborate ritual by pouring water over my scalp. I shiver and close my eyes. As she massages shampoo into my hair I let my thoughts drift. I think about Weasley's potion ideas, the Ministry, of Miss Parkinson and her troubles, but inevitably my thoughts circle back to her, the witch currently rinsing my hair with more care than I've ever experienced. Is it a curse, that has robbed her of her memories and her sight? What happened to her, who is she?

"I'm a Potions Master," I try again. "I could help you. With the shampoo for example, mine seems to have moondew extract? Have you tried triple-distilling it under a full moon?"

Her hands still in my hair. "Well, I did think about that, but then that would negate the silverweed leaves, as they are allergic to moonlight. I tried improving the efficacy by adding ground Moly flowers, but you're right, there's something missing."

I consider the problem. "Did you try Fire Salamander blood? It would react favourably with Moly flowers."

"Oh! That might be an option, but it's rare and difficult to get. What about Ashwinder eggs?"

I shrug. That depends. "Maybe. What else did you add? Ginger, hawthorn?"

She snorts. "Can't a witch keep any secrets, here?"

I shake my head gingerly, she isn't done rinsing my hair. "Not from my nose, Cessair. I want to help you."

She is quiet, her hands stilling again. I wonder what she thinks. Slowly she starts working again, rinsing my hair, finishing up with slightly colder water, then gently wringing the excess water out with a clean cloth. "You can't help me, Master Brennus."

"I will try, if you let me."

She is silent again and lets me out of the chair without a word. I rise, reluctantly, and leave a pile of Galleons on the counter again.

"Please," she says just as I turn to leave. Nothing more, just that. A whisper, again. "Please."

I don't know what she's asking of me, if it is to stop digging, to go deeper, but it doesn't matter much. I will do all I can to find out what's going on.

For the first time in… years, probably, I have a purpose again.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Although it goes against all of my guiding principles, I return to Grimmauld Place that same evening. The Fidelius charm is either still in place, unchanged, or lifted, as Number Twelve is clearly visible. I suppress a shiver. Coming here for Order meetings when Black was alive was torture, not only due to the man himself. The conduct of the others was almost worse. I was an outcast, a pariah, and Albus clearly kept me so on purpose, letting Black get away with everything while stepping in at the right moment to make me the villain. They never trusted me, the other Order members. Maybe Kingsley had, once, and Minerva sometimes, but then it was too late and nothing mattered anymore during that last horrid year.

Anyway. I shake off the horrid thoughts and take the final few steps up the front stairs.

Potter opens. He's clad in a shabby t-shirt and Muggle jeans, looking very far from the fancy celebrity I know he is. To make matters worse he's a good Quidditch player, too.

"Professor!" he gasps, clearly not expecting to see me. He's filled out during training, but Seekers are lean and strong rather than bulky.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Potter. Is your wife in?"

He stands a moment with his mouth open before his mind, supposedly, catches up. "Ginny?"

Well, obviously, dunderhead. Or how many wives do you have? I do not say it but am sure he picks up on it anyway.

"Erm, well, yes, give me a minute. Come in, anyway. Kreacher! Tea please?" He turns as he talks, addressing the wily old house-elf I vaguely recall from Order meetings. He used to mutter about everyone and everything but usually treated me with respect, oddly enough. Come to think of it, it was probably because I wasn't trusted by Black or the others. He brought me tea in the evenings sometimes, when I had ensconced myself in the Black library, seeking solitude.

Potter gestures for me to head to the dining room while he goes upstairs to fetch the youngest not-Weasley-anymore. I do that, and Kreacher comes in with a cup of tea, just the way I like it. Not long after I hear steps thudding down the stairs.

Mrs Potter is tall, slim and collected. She doesn't appear as flustered as her husband, and sits down at the table opposite me. Kreacher deposits another cup of tea by her place, and one for Potter who has seated himself next to his wife.

"Professor," she says in greeting. "You look well."

I nod and wait a moment, trying to work out what to say. "Thank you for allowing me in, Mrs Potter," I say slowly. "I've come here to ask you a question, only."

"Yes?" she says, waiting. She was never really afraid of me while at Hogwarts, I know that much, and she had some skill in Potions.

"Miss Parkinson said it was you who first introduced her to the Hair-ologist in York. What can you tell me about her?"

"Who? Miss Parkinson?" Mrs Potter looks confused. "No… wait a minute. Yes, that's right. I'd nearly forgotten about that. The Hair-ologist…"

She trails off, her eyes focused on a spot near my shoulder as she thinks.

Potter looks confused, as usual. "Hold on, are you talking about the one in York?"

"Obviously, as that's what I said, Potter. Do try to keep up." I can't help it, something about him just makes my snarky side take over, more than usual that is.

Mrs Potter sighs and rolls her eyes. It is unclear if I or her husband is her target. "You're right. I went there right before my career took off, and I dragged Harry along as well. He was unhappy as an Auror, had just finished the training and only got the shittiest shifts. We went to see the Hair-ologist a couple of times before he got approached by the team to sign on as a Seeker, and well here we are. Odd, I haven't thought about her in years. Why did I forget her? I do see Pansy occasionally, you know since she works at the _Prophet_, and I must have said something to her at some point."

"So, you went to see her and then your career took off," I summarise. "Do you recall anything about her?"

To my surprise Potter answers. "I… got the impression she was someone I knew," he says slowly. "She had this Glamour on, obviously, so I couldn't see her face but something about her movements was really familiar. Odd that I can't remember, but I really have no idea who she was."

Mrs Potter nods. "It seemed as if she knew us, too, sometimes. She just… seemed like she wanted to join in when we chatted while we were there."

"What was your general impression of her?" I ask both of them.

Potter shrugs. "I think she must have been our age but it was hard to say. She could have been, but then if she went to Hogwarts I should have remembered her. Right?"

"Maybe she didn't go to Hogwarts," Mrs Potter comments.

Potter shakes his head. "No, I think she did. We were talking about Hagrid, remember? And the Acromantulas being removed by the Ministry and him moving to France? She was gasping and nodding along and it was as if she knew both Hagrid and the Forest. She can't have been from elsewhere, they aren't known outside Hogwarts."

I ponder this. She called me Professor so I, too, lean towards suspecting she was at Hogwarts, and that she is young enough to have had me as a teacher. "Who told you about her? How did you find her, Mrs Potter?"

The witch snorts. "Please call me Ginny, Professor. Mrs Potter sounds so stuffy. Anyway, let me see… I think it may have been from Mum? Or maybe even Mrs Longbottom. Yes, that may be it. Mum invited me to lunch when Mrs Longbottom came over as well and we must have talked about hair. It was odd, now that I think of it. Mum was very dismissive while Mrs Longbottom seemed to really want us to go see the Hair-ologist. I was curious, so I sent an owl to her later to get the address, and went a few days later. No idea what Mum had against it, she's usually quite fond of pampering. Maybe she thought it was too expensive?"

"I don't understand how we could just forget about her like this," Potter says next. "Especially since she seemed so familiar. Was she cursed?"

I nod slowly. She almost told me as much, saying she couldn't remember, that she thought she used to be able to see.

I rise to leave. "Thank you for your time, Mr Potter, Mrs Potter."


	5. How Do I Care

I return to my flat and try to think, but fail. The facts don't add up to anything reasonable. Potter may be dull but not that stupid, I must admit. He's become… tolerable… after the end of the war. Apparently he helped clearing my name in the trials while I was comatose, something I definitely wouldn't have expected from the brat I knew from Hogwarts, and I think I also see less of his father in him these days.

Again there's something I've forgotten, another name? How can it be?

The next morning I'm in a lousy mood. Luckily it's the weekend. Unluckily for me, the shop is still open on weekends. I spend as long as I dare down in the labs, brewing simple remedies everyone should know how to make instead of buying them from me, and then occasionally head up to deal with customers.

That afternoon I feel something odd in my inner pocket, a warm sensation. Upon investigation I notice it is the brass disc. It is warm to the touch and somehow I sense desperation mixed with something else, is that fear? Hope? Grief? It doesn't make sense. Whipping out my wand I answer, and follow a minute later after hurriedly closing and Warding the shop.

The door to her business is unlocked. When I enter I see the store is in disarray. A shelf has been flipped, vials and jars have crashed onto the ground, the chair is upended and the witch is sitting in a corner, with her feet drawn up, appearing to look straight ahead at nothing.

"Master Brennus?" she says faintly when I enter.

I quickly step over the debris and crouch down in front of her. "Please, call me Severus."

"Severus…" she whispers and I shiver involuntarily when hearing her say my name.

First things first, I think while surveying her. "Are you hurt?"

I reach a hand out to her, gently touching hers. She gasps but allows the contact and then grips my fingers strongly. She shakes her head, anyway.

"Come on, rise with me." I get up first, not letting go of her hand, and gently pull her up to standing, steadying her with my other hand on her elbow. I see she is barefoot, and there is blood seeping out between her toes.

"Is there somewhere we can go? Your feet are bleeding."

She takes a step and winces, clinging to my arm. "Oh… Through the curtain at the back, then."

I scoop her up, it seems the most efficient. She squeaks in surprise but doesn't protest further, and helps wave the curtain aside with a flick of her wrist as we approach.

We end up in a tiny hallway. A light switch near the opening lights a single Muggle bulb hanging from the ceiling. There is a door to the left, another to the right, and one door straight ahead which is open to reveal bathroom tiles on the floor. I head that way. The bathroom is also in a sad state, with cracked tiles, a shower cabin and a small bathroom cabinet that almost looks as if it wants to jump off the wall. The formerly-green paint is cracked and flaking. I deposit her on the loo lid, the only available surface, and kneel down before her again.

It's awkward but I clean her feet with a towel I rinse in the sink, carefully picking out the glass shards with my wand. She winces but doesn't complain.

"I will get you some potions and salves for your feet. Is there anything else you need?"

She shakes her head, I don't believe her. She can't stay here, anyway, sitting alone in the bathroom on the loo lid. "You can't stay here. Is there a kitchen or a sofa?"

"That way," she says and points vaguely to the left from where she's sitting.

I lift her again and carry her through the other door. We end up in a tiny room, with a twin bed along the wall shared with the shop, a two-person kitchen table by the window with two rickety chairs, and a tiny kitchenette. There's a wardrobe behind the door, as well, but otherwise there's no more space for anything. After some deliberation I put her on one of the kitchen chairs and pull the other one closer for her to put her feet on.

"I will clean up out there and be back shortly."

"Please," she says again, quietly, and again I'm not sure what she's referring to.

I turn on my heel and stalk out, eager to start so that I can return sooner. The shop is easily cleaned with a few flicks of my wand, and her lotions and brews are no match compared to fifteen years' worth of accidents at Hogwarts. The shelf is put to rights, I manage to salvage some of the containers, but a lot of the contents is ruined. I right the chair and Scourgify the floors too, making sure no glass remains there and idly wonder why she was padding around barefoot.

I leave, Warding the entrance almost on auto pilot, and quickly return to my workshop to pick up some potions. After some deliberation I also place an order with a local Indian restaurant, thinking she needs some nutrition.

When I return, laden with potions and various boxes full of steaming food, she's still sitting in the same spot I left her in, looking small and forlorn, lost even.

She gasps when I enter the room. "You returned…"

I raise an eyebrow in reflex before remembering she cannot see it. "Of course I've returned, silly witch. I told you so. I brought some food, I hope you're hungry."

Her stomach growls and if I could see her face I'm sure she would be blushing.

"Feet first," I declare and set to work. I give her a pain potion and a general healing potion to counteract whatever ingredients she may have stepped in, make sure to disinfect the wounds again with a spell and then drip some Dittany to seal them. She flinches but doesn't complain. I bandage her feet up and then set them down on the floor.

"You have warm hands," she comments, almost dreamily. "Strong."

I feel awkward and don't answer. The Pain Potion I gave her contains a mild sedative, some people get a bit loopy on it but it's quite effective. Naturally. It's my own brew, after all.

"I brought Indian, I hope that is acceptable."

She lights up and nods. "There should be plates in the left cupboard. Oh, it's been ages since I had Indian, I think…"

She trails off while I fetch plates. There are two chipped ones in the shabby cupboard, and I even find cutlery and two glasses. Nothing drinkable other than water, but that works too.

We eat mostly in silence. I don't ask what happened, thinking she will tell me eventually. Not until we're finished does she speak up.

"I thought I recognised someone but he blew up at me, saying he'd never seen me before and that I was a fraud and a fake. He pulled down the shelf and the chair and I must have hurt my feet when trying to go after him. It was his first visit, he won't come back."

I don't even bother to tamp down the white-hot flare of anger that courses through me. "Can you tell me anything more about him?"

She thinks, it seems. "Aodh… that's the name that came to me. When I washed his hair I sensed he wanted fame, most of all. Recognition, maybe."

Aodh means Fire, I'm pretty sure. Another clue? I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all. "What do you mean, you sensed it?"

She shrugs. "That's what I do. I sense what people desire, through their hair. I try to push them in the right direction, to give them what they need. Sometimes it's even what they wish for, but not always."

I don't ask what she sensed in me. It seems too personal, too private. I still wish to have her hands in my hair again, that much I know at least.

"Why were you barefoot?"

"It helps sometimes, to ground me," she says quietly. "And I couldn't find my slippers."

We sit in silence for a while, but it doesn't feel awkward. Not until she yawns widely, at least. I should have thought about that, the potion often makes people sleepy. I don't want to leave her alone but I cannot stay, either. It would definitely not be proper.

"Do you need more assistance?" I ask, trying to find a reason to stay.

"Not tonight, I think," she says. "Thank you… Severus."

I'm getting goose bumps again, the room must be draughty. "He ruined a lot of your products, do you need to make more?"

She shrugs. "Maybe tomorrow, I don't know right now." Gingerly she rises to stand next to the chair and then takes a slow step forward, visibly relaxing when it doesn't hurt.

Of course she wouldn't know. "May I come here tomorrow, then, to assist you with that?"

I can almost, almost sense her eyes on me, focused on mine. "Would you really?"

I nod, sharply, and move to the door. "Of course. See you in the morning, then."

I leave, reluctantly, and step back outside into the rain. It seems oddly fitting. When I return home it is as if half my mind is left with her, and I don't understand how that happened.


	6. Because I Want To

The next morning I am up early, thinking about the task ahead. My own brews are stable, I decant a few and leave the rest in stasis until later since I don't know when I'll be back. She'd been on my mind all night, and I still have no idea what to do about it.

I Apparate to York again. When I try the door it is open, but I sense her wards washing over me as I enter. They feel warm, welcoming, but there is clearly a bite to them: if I hadn't been expected, it would certainly have hurt.

She's not in the shop, but I hear some noise from the back and duck in behind the curtain. The door to the left is ajar, and that's where the sound is coming from. I knock on the door frame to warn her before entering. The room is dark, only stray light coming in from the dusty window.

"Good morning," I try.

She stills. "Severus. You came."

"Of course, I told you I would."

I manage to locate a light switch, and another sad Muggle light bulb in the ceiling. She'd been working in the dark, obviously not bothered by it. At least now a few more details come into view. She had jars and various containers on the benches, a cauldron on a low heat and a chopping board with some herbs — maybe rosemary — to be prepared next to the cauldron.

She growls in frustration. "Why isn't this working? I have Mugwort, honey and rose oil but it doesn't fuse as it should."

I sniff the small cauldron. "The rose oil is bad. Do you have any Flobberworm Mucus? That could help."

"No, I'm all out… I haven't had the chance to go to the market the last few weeks. I need to make more of everything, all the bases and some other potions."

"Where is your inventory?

She points vaguely to a storage cabinet in the corner and I survey her stores. It appears she's running low on oils and several other ingredients, and some of the herbs have wilted.

"Is this all you have?"

She stills in front of the cauldron and I take a step towards her. Is she crying? I still cannot see her face properly. "Witch, what's wrong?"

"Everything! Everything is wrong…" She wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her robes. "I won't make this month's rent if I can't replace these brews. The landlord keeps raising it, keeps saying my payments aren't enough even when I know they are. He thinks I don't notice when he removes Galleons before counting them."

I think a moment but the solution is obvious. "You will come with me. I have everything in the labs and what I don't have, I can fetch easily."

"But…"

"No. What do you need to bring from here? I have equipment and vials."

She sniffles and then collects herself with a shudder, before nodding. "Okay. I'll just need a few things."

She moves around me with the practised efficiency of someone who knows their way around, picking up a silver knife, some bundles of herbs and a few jars before turning to me and nodding.

I offer her my arm after checking that wards are in place, and Apparate us both to the lab. She doesn't let go when we arrive, and I must admit it takes me a moment to realise she won't be able to navigate on her own without some help. I guide her around the room, pointing out directions and distances and where everything else, and deposit her by a clean workbench.

"What ingredients do you need?"

She puts the items she brought on the bench, and thinks for a moment. "A copper cauldron, small, some good olive oil, fresh lavender, distilled water… Do you have moondew extract?"

"Certainly, I'll get it for you." I fetch the things she requested, relieved that she cannot see my stupid grin as I do so, and then go back to my own brews while she works on hers.

We spend the day working in silence, only broken when she asks about ingredients or equipment. I make good progress on the potions I need to stock for the week, including several orders from St Mungo's, and she seems happy with her progress as well.

She even stays for a light lunch, some sandwiches and soup, and after she asks what I'm working on. I show her. Well, tell her, but anyway to my surprise it feels completely natural to have someone in my lab. She even asks if she could help me with something, and I set her working on a batch of Pepper-Up for the shop as it is a reasonably simple potion although one has to be precise with the timing to get the best result.

When she's finished I inspect the work and must admit I'm impressed. I say as much. "Very good." With a flick of my wand the potion is decanted into vials, and another flick sends it soaring to the sink. She beams at me, I think, the Glamour makes it hard to see.

"I should go back," she says, sounding reluctant.

To my surprise it is late already. We've spent the whole day in the lab and I've not minded her company at all, which basically never happens. She has asked questions that clearly show her interest in the subject, and she did well preparing both my potions and her own brews. I doubt she's studied it past NEWT levels, but her knowledge and practical skills would have placed her at the top of her class, especially considering the poor performance of most students. That too reminds me of someone, but I cannot figure out who.

I Apparate her back to York, anyway, to the alley beside her shop that I've used before. She lingers by the door for a moment before slipping through the wards with a nod at me.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I feel adrift, lost. The following week starts off badly since I happen to snap at customers, suppliers and my contact at St Mungo's all on the same day. Lucius even comes by to invite me to supper, and I throw him out on his arse. Well, almost. He's too well-bred for that to work.

After another shower and hair wash later that evening I do calm down a bit, and try to think. Once again I try to list what I know, and it still isn't much. The shampoo bases she prepared weren't special, I couldn't see any particularly powerful magical ingredients and she wasn't incorporating any Charms either.

The visit to the Potters had yielded some pieces of information, however, and especially the names were interesting. Not wanting to waste any more time, I head down to the Owl Post Office and manage to send off a note just before they close for the night. A grumpy clerk shoos me out but I see the owl leaving on silent wings as I turn to leave.

An owl arrives with a response late the next morning with a note agreeing to a meeting the following weekend, and with that sorted I dive back into work again. The next few days pass quickly with more St Mungo's orders and a meeting for the upcoming Memory Potion trial, another meeting with Weasley, too many customers and too much to brew. I need to hire someone to help out at the shop, at minimum, but I don't have time to think about it.

I return to York later in the week, needing to see her, craving her hands in my hair. She nods at me to sit and starts in without a word. I groan and close my eyes, letting myself relax, drifting off while she works. She hums a tune, nothing I recognise, but otherwise doesn't speak. It's peaceful. What I want, at least, seems clear: I want to fix this, even if the definition of _this_ eludes me at the moment.

After, I thank her and leave, even if part of me wants to stay. I leave behind several potions on her desk and some high-quality ingredients I noticed earlier she was lacking.

I think I would have seen her smiling if I had been able to see her face.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I walk up the gravel path to the old, if small, Pure-blood manor house. It's early in the day, but the skies are overcast. The garden would be stunning during summer, but even now at mid-winter it's impressive. Rose hedges, various bushes and flower beds in elaborate patterns line the paths and I think I see a large greenhouse behind the main building.

An old elf meets me at the door and guides me to a small and overwhelmingly powder blue dining room where I finally meet with my host. She's sitting in a chair by the small dining table, and doesn't rise when I enter. I walk over to her chair, instead.

I nod at her and ghost a kiss over her hand in greeting. "Madam Longbottom, thank you for accepting my request for a meeting."

"Nonsense, Severus. Of course I'll talk to you. I've been meaning to send word to you myself but something has always come in the way. I don't venture out much these days." Augusta Longbottom is old now, frail in that old-person way, almost translucent. Her eyes are sharp, though.

"Have a seat, young man, or you'll give me a crick in the neck."

I sit and the elf immediately deposits a small tray laden with sandwiches on the table, along with some tea for us. She doesn't speak, nor do I, but it doesn't feel forced.

Once we finished our tea I clear my throat. "Madam Longbottom, I do not know where to start, but I've been trying to figure something out and your name has come up."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me again. "Good, you've finally worked it out. You are here about her, aren't you? And do call me Augusta."

I incline my head. "Yes. The Hair-ologist in York. I've spoken to the Potters, the Malfoys and Miss Parkinson."

"Good," she says and leans back in the chair. "I will tell you what I can, mind, not what you should know but what I can tell you."

I nod and wait, not letting my impatience show. It wouldn't do to rush her. Luckily I have experience with that, hard won through two wars and two old rambling masters.

She calls for the elf again who refills her cup of tea before she begins.

"This world of ours, you wizards think you rule it with your Ministry and the Wizengamot and the laws and the corruption and the deals in the dark. Us witches are seen as less important, only ruling hearth and children and other such minor matters."

Her tone makes it clear what she thinks. I raise an eyebrow and nod in agreement.

She takes a sip of tea again. "You also know, I'm sure, that I host gatherings of influential witches here regularly. It's a tradition that has gone on for at least a thousand years. We negotiate deals and mete out justice in our own way, in matters that concern not only witches but all of Wizarding and Muggle Britain, and we also regularly connect with other such covens outside Britain. That I'm openly telling you, a wizard, about this is akin to treason."

I nod again. "I won't tell you that you can trust me. Evidently you do already, or you wouldn't tell me this."

"Indeed." She smiles at me, briefly. "The Wizarding world after the end of the War you and my grandson were so heavily involved in, hasn't been itself. I presume you've noticed? The Ministry is corrupt, their politics oppressive, people are losing their jobs and earning less and less for what they do. Something is wrong, Severus."

Well, that much has been obvious for a while. What's less obvious is what is causing the situation, or how to fix it. I say as much.

"Yes, you're right. It isn't. But I know, or at least strongly suspect, what has happened." Taking a deep breath she looks away, as if to collect her thoughts. "I fear the fault lies with me. As the Utter Crone for the British Coven of Witches I am ultimately responsible for what its members do, at least when it comes to how the coven's resources are used. And now a couple of members have started working on their own, striking bargains with the Fae for their own selfish purposes rather than for the benefit of all. The problem is that I, too, am bound by the geas they've put upon us, and so I am unable to tell you."

I try to think. A Geas would perhaps explain a thing or two, if it was placed by a powerful enough magical being. The practice has fallen out of favour a bit, or so I thought, but used to be common back in the Dark Ages. "So you cannot say what the geas is, I presume. Can you tell me who placed it, or anything else that could help?"

She looks pleased by the question. "Three witches were involved, each with a unique reason to request this particular geas to be placed. The Fae Queen didn't like their question, and she forced all three of them to make a concession in order to place the geas. That is our only way out of this. I cannot say much more about it, you will have to figure it out."

It's more than I used to know, but far from enough. "They've requested this witch to be forgotten? By the whole wizarding world? Why, and who was she?"

But Augusta Longbottom shakes her head slowly. "This is more than I should tell you. There are clues, for one who looks. It is not impossible to figure it out, and to work out how to break the geas. Go where you first met her and talk to those who don't talk anymore."

The dismissal is clear, so I rise to leave. "Thank you for your time, Madam Longbottom." I'll send her a crate of potions as soon as I'm able, for her pain and other symptoms.

There's only one place she could have meant. I haven't been back there since the war ended, but I take a deep breath to steady myself and Apparate to Hogwarts.


	7. I'll Have You Know

The gates of Hogwarts let me in without prompting, and the wards hum against my skin. Oddly enough it feels like coming home. The Castle stands tall and proud, looking out over the lake as it always has. A new tower has been added but otherwise it looks just the same.

Walking up the gravel path I do notice some changes. Some parts of the Castle appear to be newly repaired, others are blackened by fire. There's a new cottage where Hagrid's hut used to be, the Whomping Willow appears to be half as large as it was and I think I spot some new greenhouses towards the Forest.

Minerva is in her office and appears completely shocked to see me. I must admit it's been a while. The fact that the gargoyle let me up without a password might have contributed, too. She looks old and worn, haggard, the lines in her face more pronounced than before. I suspect the dwindling Ministry budgets have hit Hogwarts hard, too.

"Minerva." She's moments from hexing me or bursting into tears, I can tell. "Aren't you happy to see me?" I raise an eyebrow at her.

She pounces, wrapping me in a fierce hug. "I can't believe it, Severus! All these years without a visit?"

"If you'll berate me for visiting now that I am here, I might as well leave," I say dryly.

To my relief she releases me. "Oh pish, Severus. Hold on, I have a Lagavulin here somewhere." She rummages in the drawers and brings out an unopened bottle of Scotch, and two glasses. I settle in the other chair and we toast to life and the superfluousness of everything, just as we used to do when we were colleagues.

"You're here for a reason, I suppose, not just to see an old friend."

That word sends a shiver through me. I didn't think I had any, save perhaps Lucius. "Unfortunately you're right this time, although of course owls fly both ways, you know. I come from a visit with Augusta Longbottom who told me this is where I should go to find more clues to an issue I've been trying to figure out for some time."

She nods, and I briefly describe the situation. The Hair-ologist and how nobody seems to recognise her, let alone remember her afterwards. Her work, how she seems to help people reach what they truly want or need. The few clues I have gathered so far.

Minerva sits still, attentive. She was always sharp and had a very different perspective on things, compared to myself or even Albus. After a while she nods slowly. "This is odd, Severus. It seems as if I should know more about this person, especially if you say you think she was at Hogwarts while you were a teacher. I haven't heard about this Hair-ologist before so unfortunately I cannot add any more pieces of information to the puzzle."

I ponder this. "Yes, but perhaps you know about the other issues? The Fae and a Geas powerful enough to make a whole country forget about someone? What could be the conditions Augusta spoke of?"

Minerva frowns and taps her fingers against the arm of the chair in a rhythm I well remember from countless staff meetings. "A Geas… that's a serious matter. She must think it important if she shares this kind of information with you, it's usually simply not done."

I nod, clearly hearing the capital letters on the last two words in that sentence. Of course Minerva would be a member of the coven, anyway.

"Anyway. Bargaining with the Fae is always hazardous. We have a reasonably good relationship with them these days, but it wasn't always so. They respect the Coven, but if some members are striking their own deals with them I fear the balance may crumble."

That makes sense, in its own way, and I say so. Meanwhile, a Hogwarts elf pops into view to deposit a tray of sandwiches and tea on the desk.

"Headmaster and Headmistress must eats!" she – Tinsel? I think I recognise her – squeaks before disappearing with a quiet pop.

"Headmaster?" Minerva says, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "Well, you'd be welcome to it, lad. We'd best do as she says or she'll soon pour out all my whisky."

"The horror," I intone but dig in nonetheless.

Minerva picks up a cucumber sandwich and takes a bite. "Fae… Let's see now. I was involved in a bargaining attempt with them a long time ago. You always have to have three witches when dealing with the Fae, they will never listen otherwise. I'm sure you are familiar with the three archetypes?"

Well, obviously. I'm not completely daft. "The Mother, Maiden, Crone. So the three witches I'm looking for will fulfil these three roles."

Minerva smirks, a most unsettling expression. "Yes, although in some cases the interpretation of the roles will be rather… creative. But yes. And you said Augusta mentioned the Fae Queen requiring a concession each from them? That might be a clue, too. What does your Hair-ologist have that isn't a curse?"

I ponder this. "The curse and original geas may be that she would be forget and be forgotten by everyone, and that she would lose her sight and looks. The Glamour I mentioned? It looks strange, it's not something she has cast herself."

Minerva sits up straighter. "Well, that works, that's three things if you squint and look at it sideways. So what concessions would she have been granted?"

"Well, somehow her line of work is tied to it, the way she can use hair to tell what someone needs, and to deliver it via shampoo, of all things." It still irks me that I cannot work it out. What is she doing with her hair products, what magic does she have access to?

"Not so foreign to a Potions Master, I would guess," Minerva says with a shrug. "What else, then? There is usually a way to break or dispel the geas. This isn't your usual geas where you would die if you break it, rather it's a way to deliver a country-wide curse without draining the caster too much. The ones directly affected would die or fall ill if they break it, such as Augusta who probably knew the identity of the witch beforehand and also knew of the geas being cast, but you aren't one of the original targets in that way."

It's odd but seems to follow its own logic, so I'm inclined to believe Minerva is right. "Would the way to break it be the third concession, then? If her sensing needs and delivering cures are the first two, I mean."

She shrugs. "Maybe. I'm not sure but it seems to fit."

I nod and shift topics, asking about Hogwarts and her own work and health. Some time later another thought strikes me. "Augusta said to talk to those who don't talk anymore, when she sent me here."

Minerva sits still for a long moment and thinks. "Could it be the portraits? They aren't among the living anymore even if they're quite talkative at times, especially when I try to get through the Ministry bureaucracy."

I do not wish to speak to Albus but perhaps I have to. However, even as I rise to face his portrait he's left his frame, I only see the lilac edge of a robe disappearing from view. Another portrait inhabitant nods at me, however, one of the few on my side that horrible year when I inhabited this office. "Headmaster Black."

"Headmaster Snape, about time I say."

"That is, luckily, not my title anymore."

Phineas Black sniffs. "So you think. I guess you're not back to reclaim your office, then?"

I shake my head. Minerva looks oddly disappointed. "Not in a long while, Phineas. I'm here about a young witch under a geas, would you happen to know anything about her?"

The old Headmaster frowns. "No, I cannot say I've heard of a geas."

Dilys Derwent approaches from another frame. "I have. The Fae don't cast them just like that, someone must have offered a whole lot for them to accept."

"A whole lot… of what?" I ask. Fae aren't my area of expertise.

Dilys shrugs. "Magical power, usually, or young men to use as mates. Sometimes smaller things, such as magical items or foodstuffs, but I doubt that would be enough for a geas of this magnitude. The Fae are fickle, usually. You said this has gone on for years? It would need continuous upkeep, you cannot just set and forget a geas this big."

I nod. "At least three years, by the looks of it. Potter and his wife, formerly Miss Weasley, confirmed it."

Headmaster Black frowns and leans forward. "Potter and Weasley… whatever happened to the third? The insufferable Muuuuu… ggleborn?" He changes what he was about to say when I scowl at him.

I frown again. A third member of the gang that darkened my last years at Hogwarts? I cannot recall it but it seems right, somehow, of course there should be three. It is no use, though, I can't remember a name or even a face to go with the name. Still, it is yet another lead.

Minerva has to work and I need to go back to the workshop, so I take my leave and once again head for the gates, this time with a slight detour to the greenhouses. To my surprise, Longbottom is there. He straightens from his plants and nods at me as I approach.

"Professor. It's been a while. How's business?" He's taller than I remember, and broad-shouldered. The greenhouses look well tended, the plants are lush and green even this late in the year and I see several sorts Pomona didn't bother with.

I nod at him. "Well enough. I went to see your grandmother today."

"You clearly are braver than I am, then. How is she?"

"Well enough, for her age. Do you have any good stock of Fanged Geranium fangs and Flutterby leaves? I'm making her a potion to help with her gout."

He nods and goes to fetch the items. As I wait I notice someone else coming close.

"Miss Lovegood?"

She tilts her head and squints at me. "Yes… Hello Professor. Good of you to step by. Have you solved it yet?"

I don't even ask. "No, I have clues but they don't add up."

She smiles, a bit wistfully. "You will, soon. If you can't, there's no hope."

Longbottom returns with the plants and refuses payment even when I offer to add it to the Hogwarts tab.

I start to head down the path to the gates, but a thought strikes me. "Longbottom… I'm trialling a potion soon at St Mungo's. The aim is to restore memories destroyed by curses or other magical means. I'm thinking of your parents."

He freezes and suddenly looks much more like the young boy who used to destroy cauldrons in my classroom. "You mean…"

I nod again. "No guarantees, you understand? But if I can, I will try."

"Thank you, Professor."

Frank and Alice were reasonably kind to me whenever our paths met while at Hogwarts. They were a few years older so it didn't happen very often, but as Prefects they did what they could to help even a poor, angry Slytherin lad.

Before I leave, Miss Lovegood calls to me again. "Professor… the geas, do you know how to break it?"

I shake my head, impatiently. It is galling, to admit failure this way.

"Oh, it's easy enough. Tell her her real name and then proceed the usual way, like in the old tales." She waves airily and disappears again behind a corner.

I sigh and turn, impatient to leave. Those clues aren't much help, and too much socialisation in one day makes me grumpy. Grumpier.


	8. With Every Heartbeat

Another week passes, somehow. I spend another afternoon with Weasley and in the end we have a solid plan for a few potions for his shop. The research at St Mungo's is going well, too. Preliminary results are promising and we should be able to move to patient trials soon. Unfortunately I don't think the potion would be good for her though, the witch who is always on my mind, even if she's lost her memory: the target vector for the potion is aligned to other kinds of curses.

I see Augusta Longbottom again to deliver the potions I have brewed for her, but she won't tell me anything more, saying it would endanger too much if she tried to reveal anything.

The Hair-ologist… I'm so close to figuring it all out but yet it doesn't help since I miss one tiny piece of the puzzle, it seems. I go to her again in the middle of the week, once again relishing in the feeling of her hands in my hair as all my stress from the week seems to melt away. Afterwards, I ask if she wants to have dinner. She freezes.

I haven't even thought it through, I was merely thinking about wanting to spend more time with her. I completely ignored the fact that she wouldn't see to eat, either. Somehow her blindness has ceased to register. Still, my blunder leaves me scrambling to catch up. "I was thinking of take-away again, or I could cook something, even."

To my relief she nods. "In that case, yes. Perhaps Indian again?"

I agree and execute the plan. Soon we're seated in her tiny kitchen again with a couple of dishes and hot naan. Being a wizard is definitely a plus when it comes to getting take-away. Somehow it's easy, with her. We start talking about the latest research, in Potions and Charms, and she's quick to pick up on the concepts. I tell her about George Weasley and the potions I create for him, and she even laughs when I describe the intended effects.

I feel light-headed, almost, when I leave and head for the workshop again. As if I've found something I didn't realise I had lost. A few of her comments led to new ideas for my research, new concepts I'm certain will make a difference to the potions' efficacy. Her mind seems to slot right in with mine, effortlessly picking up the pieces I offer and making them into a better whole.

Later that evening, however, I'm struck by a thought that won't let go. I know it's true, and I cannot understand how. Have I fallen for this strange witch, whose face I still cannot see, whose past is hidden not only from me but from herself as well?

It isn't until late that same night that I question why I didn't push harder at Hogwarts. Phineas knew something, he probably even knew her name, and Miss Lovegood too seemed to have more information. Was that too an aspect of the geas? Making sure no one thought to look for her, to find out the truth?

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

A few days later I hiss and mutter a curse as the brass disc I keep in my robe pocket heats up with such intensity I think it will leave a mark on my shirt. I quickly cast a stasis spell on the potions I am working on and Apparate away so fast I almost miscalculate the landing, arriving a foot or so too high.

The door is ajar and I hear some noise from inside. Pulling out my wand I carefully open the door a bit wider. I still don't see anyone.

"Why won't you treat me like you did Harry?" A male voice, rather whiny. "You have to! Mum said you owed her!" I hear something crash, the tinkle of falling glass and something heavy, a shelf perhaps.

I barge inside, wand raised, and immediately cast a Stunner at the male who falls like a log. Red hair, freckles. A Weasley. The youngest male, by the looks of it. Scanning the room I don't spot any other immediate threats, reinforce the Stunner with a Petrificus Totalus and locate the witch who has ducked behind the counter. I go to her and pull her up, anxious to see if she's been hurt.

"Are you okay?"

She nods and a quick check confirms that she appears unharmed. Before long the Weasley stirs and sits up slowly with a groan, pressing a palm to his temple. I guess he hit something on the way down, not that I care overly much.

"Snape?" he says and flinches visibly when seeing me.

Well, who else, dunderhead. "Obviously."

"What are you doing here?"

"The bigger question is what are you doing here? Clearly you are unwanted."

He looks up at me, his cheeks flushing a rather unflattering red, and flinches when I raise an eyebrow at him. I must admit, it does feel good to still wield that power over former students. Especially when they were as obnoxious as this specimen.

"Mum said she should help me out," he insists. "I was here earlier but she just wanted to wash my hair. Mum says she has to help me."

It takes all I have to remain still and calm. Occluding against Albus was never this bad, even when he was at his most obnoxious. I just want to strangle the immature, entitled idiot. "You have no right to demand anything from someone like her."

He struggles up on his feet. The boy is tall, taller than I am, and with the beginning of a beer gut. "Oh yeah? That's not what Mum said. She helped Harry and Ginny to get famous, George has the shop, but what about me? I'm slaving for my brother and have to…" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "Mum owes me for what she's made me do, even if it's nice and all to have all those witches, but I want fame too, Snape, and if this witch owes Mum for getting her powers then I should get something for it."

"What exactly did Molly Weasley say?" I have stepped closer, without meaning to. My wand is pointed straight at his throat.

"Piss off, Snape! I won't tell you anything. Besides, this witch isn't worth it. She's just a fraud."

He edges sideways to the door and flees. I let him go, he's not worth the trouble. A few more pieces of the puzzle, anyway, and seeing the Hair-ologist in the vicinity of the Weasley has been illuminating. Almost painfully so, and almost literally. I look at her and it is as if the fog is clearing.

"I know who you are," I breathe. She freezes, I still cannot see her face through the Glamour. I know, I just know it. How could I forget her? How could everyone forget her? "Hermione Granger. You are Hermione Granger."

She shakes her head but the Glamour slowly fades, showing her face. She's gaunt, her hair is matte and frizzy which seems rather ironic given what she does for a living, and she has dark circles under her eyes. It is apparent that she still cannot see me, however.

"I don't know who that is," she insists. "I fear you are mistaken, Master Brennus."

I shake my head even though she cannot see it. "No, you're Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, my former student, called the brightest witch of your age, always annoying me with too-long essays and trying to answer every single question. Don't you recall any of it? You called me Professor the first time I came here."

She shakes her head again and pulls herself up straighter. "No, Master Brennus. You are mistaken. Please leave."

I try to make her remember, I tell her stories of herself as a student as they come up, about her studies and her friendship with Potter and the war. It is no use. Eventually I have to admit defeat, frustrated and worried about the fact that even knowing her name wasn't enough to break the geas. She stands there, shaking her head, and just repeats that I need to leave, until I do with a last long look at her before she shuts the door and casts a _Nox, _making it impossible to see her through the window.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Something is obviously still missing, still wrong. The geas is not lifted. I have no idea what to do, and am completely swamped with work, brewing more in a week than I did in two months last year. A few days pass where I barely sleep and don't remember to eat, spending all the time brewing. I have to find an assistant, but I have no time to search for one or conduct interviews. I also don't want to go after Molly Weasley or her youngest son before having more facts. Then there are the Potters but I doubt they'll have anything more to add, even if I do remember the name now. I don't think the geas has been lifted, either.

I try to contact her via the brass disc again but it lies passive, inert, cold against my palm. Muttering a curse I have to go back to the potions I'm working on.

As I work another thought strikes me. Miss Lovegood was one of my most… unique students, but her mind was sharp. Correcting her Potions essays was something I usually saved for late evenings after a glass of wine to put me in the right mood. Anyway, she did say something else. _Say her name and proceed in the usual way, like in the old tales_. What could that mean?

The next morning as I go downstairs to open there is someone outside the door already. It's Miss Lovegood, wearing a bright fuchsia-coloured hat with what I think is swan and dove feathers fastened haphazardly to the top. I raise an eyebrow at her but let her in with a nod and lead her to the office. With a wave of my wand the kettle is set to boiling, and two cups with Muggle tea bags levitate over to the table doubling as dinner table and writing desk.

Once seated she waits for me to speak.

"Miss Lovegood."

She nods. "Professor. Time is running out. Have you solved it yet?"

I pour water over the tea and sit back, pinching the bridge of my nose in a vain attempt to stave off the impending headache. "No. I know her name but that didn't help matters much."

"Her full name?" She looks at me with those large eyes and a vague smile.

That caught my attention. No… I hadn't. Did I know her middle name? "Her middle name… was it Jane?"

"Almost. Jean."

That smile of hers is unnerving. I still don't think adding her middle name would be enough to break the curse. "Proceed the usual way, you said last we met. What do you mean?"

She sips her tea. "Oh, well Professor, I think there are plenty of such examples in tales. You'll know if you look deep inside yourself, and I can't tell you more."

If she couldn't, who would? I cannot go back to Augusta at least, the Potters are out of the question, Weasley is of no use, but perhaps there is one place where I might figure it out. I nod sharply and rise, before remembering I do have a guest of sorts.

"Go, Professor. You don't have long. I'll take care of the shop for you." She has put the cup down and rises as well.

I raise an eyebrow at her again. Oddly enough I do trust her, somewhat. "Try not to scare all of them away, I do need the business."

She follows me out to the store and checks the till and shelves. "Don't worry. I'll clean out the Nargles and Wrackspurts too so you'll have more people wanting to come inside. Say hi to Narcissa from me."

I haven't told her where I'm going, but it doesn't matter much. I nod in response and swirl away in a Disapparition.


	9. True

The stroppy Malfoy elf at the Manor tilts his head as if appraising me before nodding sharply and directing me to Narcissa's South parlour. After a while the door opens again.

"Severus?" Lady Malfoy is calm and collected as always but clearly didn't expect to see me.

"Narcissa." I nod at her and she restrains her curiosity with the practised effortlessness of Pure-blood high society breeding.

We sit, an elf comes in with mulled cider and cake, and I explain the problem. I do skim over some details, but include what Augusta had mentioned and what Miss Lovegood said.

"I didn't expect her to tell you about the Coven," Narcissa remarks. She is about to say something when her husband enters the room.

"Oh, hello Lucius." She rises graciously and kisses his cheek.

"I didn't expect you, Severus," the blond aristocrat says with an incline of his head and a tilt of an eyebrow that clearly means _What are you doing here, talking with my wife without informing me?_

I incline my head in response. "An urgent matter where I needed a witch's input."

Lucius stills and looks at me, then he grins suddenly and relaxes. "Ah, so you've found someone? Excellent! Who is it, anyone I should know?"

"What, no!" The very thought is horrifying, and yet I keep seeing flashes of the Hair-ologist in my mind. Hermione. Granger. Gods, I'm a mess.

Lucius is undeterred and starts questioning me, and I try to parry and deflect. He's too good at this game.

Narcissa comes up to me and places a dainty hand on my bicep. "Severus, there is no time. In your heart you know what to do. Go, now, before it's too late. Lucius, stop taunting the poor man, he doesn't know it yet."

Heart? I gave mine up long ago. In my experience that organ has only led to misery and pain, serving twenty years under two masters. I'm quite sure I couldn't handle it again. Nonetheless, I take my leave, heading for the Apparition point beyond the gates.

Once I'm past the gates I stop for a moment and close my eyes after making sure no one is nearby. I'm usually quite attuned to my intuition but sometimes that voice gets drowned out by obligations and guilt. The old tales that Lovegood alluded to, what were they? I recall a few stories my Ma used to tell me as a boy, about young witches asleep in towers and losing slippers and what have you. They never seemed based in reality, but might there be something to them? The old Arthurian tales, about swords in stones and holy quests, don't seem applicable either.

After a while I am not much closer to a solution but I'm filled with a sense of urgency. I need to go, now.

I Apparate to the alley again and immediately sense that something is wrong. The storefront is dark, deserted. Has she left already? I'll never find her if she manages to escape. Casting a _Homenum Revelio_ I do see there is someone at the back of the building, however.

Her wards are tricky and won't let me in, not until I take out the brass disc and place it against the doorframe. The disc heats up in my hand and the door opens. It is dark, I have to cast a _Lumos_ to see anything. The room is bare, all her potions and salves gone, as is the chair and counter.

She comes out from the inner room, not looking overly happy, her arms crossed in front of her. "I thought I told you to leave, Master Brennus."

I move closer, stopping one step away from her. "Please, hear me out. This is important."

She thinks for a while and then nods, once. "Fine. You have fifteen minutes, I have a train to catch."

Suddenly I do know, what I have to do and say to potentially break this geas. It is terrifying. "Ever since I first stepped inside this door my life has been completely changed, in ways I couldn't imagine. Business is almost too much these days, my research is humming along, and all of a sudden I have customers again."

She nods at that, impatiently, and gestures at me to continue.

I take another deep breath. "It's not just that, however. You have been on my mind ever since that day, driving me mad with the need to figure out what happened to you. I have talked to enough people to work it out, and I am quite sure I know the next step although there are still some pieces missing." I pause, looking at her, but her expression doesn't change. I barrel on. "I have to tell you some things, though. If this works, there is a strong chance you'll resent me for what I will do. You knew me before. I was your teacher, and not one you particularly liked. You would never have consented to this, and I would never have allowed it."

Bleak despair grows ever stronger, the knowledge that she will hate me for what I have to do to save her, to break this geas. I have to bare myself to her in a way I haven't, ever, since Lily. I force it down, though. It is not important. Breaking this geas and saving her is important. Her leaving me, hating me afterwards isn't. "With that said, I must ask, do you want me to help you? Do you trust me to not hurt you?"

Even though she cannot see me, her large brown eyes are fixed on my face. She thinks for a long time, and then nods slowly. "Yes. Severus. I have always trusted you, I think."

I have to close my eyes, my name on her tongue is giving me goosebumps again, and take a deep breath to steady myself. Her scent fills my nostrils, jasmine and vanilla and something else, deeper. "Do I have your consent to try to break the geas?"

"I already said so, didn't I? I trust you, Severus." A soft smile makes it clear she isn't too annoyed with my persistence.

I move closer to her and put a hand on her upper arm so as to not frighten her with sudden movements. The most frightening about this is how much I want it, how badly I want her not to shy away and look at me with hateful eyes, even if I know it is unlikely. At least I will have this memory. This close to her the difference in size between us is obvious, with her only reaching to my chin.

Suddenly the words are easy to find. "You are Hermione Jean Granger, witch, and my former student. You are the reason I stand here today, when you saved me in the Shrieking Shack from death by snake, and again later when you cleared my name in front of the Wizengamot. You are the reason behind Harry Potter's success, both when he managed to stop the Dark Lord and afterwards. You are currently my reason for existing. Use my memories of you to bring your own back."

I lower my face to hers, letting my hand on her shoulder slide behind her neck, not pushing, only for support. Gently I capture her lips with my own. Well, my intention is for it to be gentle, chaste. Almost immediately she gasps and deepens the kiss, and I couldn't let go even if I wanted to. My feelings for her are laid bare, obvious to myself as they must be to her, but she doesn't stop. Magic surges up around and against us, swirling faster and faster, tugging at my hair and clothes as well as hers. I pull her closer and still don't let go, and feel her hands creep up my back, holding me equally close. The intensity builds, pulling magic and emotion from me, from her, into the swirling vortex until it explodes outward in a blinding nova.

She breaks the kiss and looks at me, now with seeing eyes that meet my gaze. She looks flushed and thoroughly ravaged, her hair is a mess, her cheeks flushed and her lips deliciously plump. "Severus...? Professor Snape?"

I stiffen and try to disentangle myself from her, knowing very well what is to come and I cannot take yet another rejection. "Miss Granger. I apologise, this was the only way to break the geas."

Shaking her head she doesn't let go, instead she pulls me tighter and burrows her head under my chin. "No. Don't. Do you really want to give up on me now?"

With a sigh I relent and let my arms encircle her again. She feels wonderful in my arms. "I had assumed you didn't want your ex-Professor to kiss you, especially not the Dungeon Bat."

"Don't assume so much. I know what you feel. I felt it."

To my surprise she tangles her hands in my hair again and pull my head down, claiming my mouth in another kiss. I resist for half a moment before my brain catches up and I meet her, giving myself over to her mouth and questing tongue. It is marvellous, exhilarating, and completely terrifying.

I don't have time to think as we are interrupted by the sound of someone coughing nearby, in a very blatant way. We break apart, and somehow Lovegood has made it inside the shop.

"Good job, Professor," she says. She's not alone but I cannot quite see who is behind her.

Hermione gasps and pulls the blonde witch into a hug, squealing high-pitched nonsense I cannot make out. I'm quite certain there are tears involved. To my surprise, Potter and Mrs Potter step out behind Lovegood. He looks pale and dishevelled, while she looks rather fierce.

"Professor, all of a sudden I just knew… I had to come here." He moves closer to Lovegood. "Hermione?"

She does the same as with Lovegood, and falls into his arms. I am distracted by Lovegood and Mrs Potter, who both drag me over to a corner.

"The geas is lifted but you have to work fast to catch those responsible," Lovegood says. "Do you have any leads?"

I had almost forgotten about that. "Three witches are involved but I only have one name," I say slowly. "Molly Weasley."

Mrs Potter gasps. "Figures. She's always had it in for Hermione for some reason. Can you go with Harry to confront her then? Luna and I can look after Hermione."

"Go to the shop then," I tell Lovegood who nods.

Potter and Hermione break apart, finally, and Potter is debriefed by his wife. Hermione looks at me again and smiles. I want to take her in my arms again but not with an audience. "Will you go with Miss Lovegood to my shop and wait there? Your location here isn't safe any longer."

She agrees. The others help her pack the last of her things, and soon we are ready to leave. She breaks free from the group and pounces on me again, however, hugging me tight.

"You will come back to me? You're not abandoning me? We'll talk later?" she asks against my buttons.

"I'll come back to you, you have my word," I tell her.

She smiles and reaches up on her toes to press a kiss on my cheek, before going back to the witches. I watch them leave, before Potter and I take off for the Burrow.


	10. No Reason Good Enough

We land by the rose bushes, scaring off a couple of gnomes who curse at us and scurry off. The Burrow is even odder than I last remember it, with new additions at weird angles, all of it clearly defying both construction guidelines and the laws of physics.

Potter casts a _Homenum Revelio_ and holds up one finger in confirmation before he quietly moves across the lawn to the front door. I follow a step behind, a bit surprised. Has he grown up? He knocks on the front door while I stand in a spot that should be hidden when she opens the door. It works as intended. The door opens carefully, just enough to see who is outside.

"Harry! Come in, come in, I didn't expect you here on a weekday like this? Is everything okay?" She sounds concerned.

Just as she is about to close the door I step into her line of sight, and her smile falls. "Snape. Severus. What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me, Molly?" I raise an eyebrow and close the door behind me, ushering her inside.

Potter helps by distracting her with some story about his wife and their latest Quidditch game. Her hosting genes take over and she ushers us into the kitchen, putting on a kettle. I have no intention of drinking anything in her kitchen, and cast a very localised _Muffliato_ to tell Potter as much. His eyebrows hitch up but he nods in agreement.

I'm feeling jittery. We need answers, fast. "Molly. Sit."

She turns and whips her wand out, but I'm faster and have her disarmed before the hex has left her lips. I hand the wand to Potter, and direct the Weasley matron to sit on the nearest kitchen chair.

"Why did you curse Hermione?" Potter blurts out in a most Gryffindor fashion.

I shoot a glare at him but he's looking at his mother-in-law and is thus immune for the moment.

"She deserved it," Molly spat. "She was cheating on my poor Ronald, I know she was. She wasn't worthy of him so I made sure everyone forgot her."

"Ron cheated, Molly!" Harry said, exasperated. "She broke up with him because he was found with another witch in their bed, not just once!"

Molly shakes her head. "No, not my Ronniekins. She was bad for him, bad news."

I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose and make up my mind. Pointing my wand at her from my lap I look in her eyes and dive in. She doesn't notice, obviously. Her mind is full of Weasleys, Weasleys everywhere. Weasleys eating, Weasleys arguing, Weasleys all over the place. Potter is talking about something I barely register, and it helps since it makes her think of Hermione instead. I catch a strand of thought and reel it in.

A snippet of a conversation. _Molly sits at a round table in what appears to be a caf__é. Someone comes up to join her. "We're almost finished, we just need to wait for the full moon. Are you ready? We'll make her pay." Molly nods and looks up at the woman. "Good. I'm ready. We're meeting at Stonehenge?"_

_Rita Skeeter nods and smiles a sharp smile. __"Good. See you then."_

Well, although I hadn't expected to see that odious face again I cannot deny it's not a surprise. I dig further, following the strand of guilt and excitement…

_Three witches sit on the grass in the middle of Stonehenge. The sun is low but it must be summertime, and they are wearing less clothing than they should. Molly is easy to spot but the others__… Rita is there, and is that Dolores Umbridge? Another face I didn't want to see ever again, especially not this underdressed. There is a vague mist moving between the columns. _

"_Fae mother, grant us our plea," they chant. "Fae sister, hear us out. Fae maiden, Fae elder, come help our plight."_

_After a while, the mist thickens and suddenly the Fae appear, as if they were always present. Perhaps that is true, I think fleetingly. The Fae Queen is beautiful to look at, her features alien and strange but the magic swirling around her is strong, powerful, and elegant. She looks at the three witches and smiles, if that is what it is. There is a whole group of them, surrounding the witches. _

"_I see you are gathered here in accordance with the Treaty," she begins, looking them over one by one. "The Maiden," this is directed at Rita Skeeter, "the Mother," well this one is obvious. Molly nods. The Fae Queen's gaze falls on Umbridge. "The Crone." Umbridge simpers but is clearly annoyed by the title. _

_I think about this for a moment, Umbridge was married once, a political marriage that never led anywhere, thankfully, and her husband is either dead or ran off. Rita being called a Maiden is probably due to the fact that she__'s unmarried, without children; I doubt it's literal. Trying to shake off that thought I bring my attention back to the scene ._

"_What boon do you seek, what cause do you have to call for us?" _

"_There is a witch that must be forgotten, by everyone," Molly begins. _

"_And she must forget!" Rita interjects. _

"_Make her blind, too," Umbridge says. _

"_An outcast, alone, no one will recognise her," Rita continues. _

_The Fae look between themselves. __"What has she done unto you, to warrant such hatred?" one of the other Fae asks. "And what else do you seek?"_

"_She's evil and vicious," Umbridge says promptly. Rita nods. _

"_She seduced my son, used him and cast him aside," Molly says. "I want my sons to succeed."_

"_I want my past to be hidden," Rita says quickly. "So that no one knows of my status and I can be a famous journalist."_

"_I want to run this country, even if it is behind the scenes," Umbridge says slowly. _

_The Fae behind the witches sigh and shake their heads, but they seem to confer between themselves. A few of them smile, and then the Queen nods._

"_We will grant you your wishes, but there is a price to be paid and concessions to be made. Are you willing to do so?"_

"_Yes," all three of them dutifully chanted. _

"_What concessions will you grant her?" The Queen looks stern, all of a sudden, and Molly and Rita back away from her a bit. _

"_Her hair is atrocious…" Rita says. "Let her work as a hair stylist."_

"_And make shampoo for them," Molly adds. _

_The Fae whisper among themselves. It doesn__'t sound as if they're speaking English. After some time they nod in synchrony and start talking, almost like a chant. "The witch will forget and be forgotten, by all and every being. Her face will be hidden and she will not see. She will work with hair, granting people their innermost wishes through her craft, and the Geas will be lifted once her true name is spoken by her true love, who kisses her with pure intentions."_

_Rita snorts. __"As if that would ever happen. We accept."_

_Molly nods as well. __"Yes, no way she would find her true love, she's already thrown our Ron aside."_

_Umbridge, too, nods her assent. __"No one could know her identity if she's forgotten by all. We accept."_

_The Fae don__'t look too impressed. "Now, for payment. Maiden, from you we require the finest mead, delivered in seven casks on the eves of the four days symbolised by the Turning of the Wheel. Do you accept?" _

_Rita looks surprised but does, indeed accept. _

"_Mother, from you we require your youngest son, to take as mate for the Court."_

_Molly flushes red but nods tightly._

"_Crone, from you we require the gift of magic. Not yours, for that is not pure enough, but from what you gather around you. It will be siphoned on the four days symbolising the Turning of the Wheel."_

_Umbridge, too, nods sharply. I wonder what this implies, have they somehow stolen magic from the whole Ministry? The country? I have no idea. _

_The Fae leave, with a couple of them shaking their heads at the witches, but others are laughing. It doesn__'t sound very pleasant. _

I pull out of her mind only to find Potter having restrained her with thick conjured ropes in addition to a fresh Petrificus.

"She was getting a bit out of hand," he says apologetically. "Did you find anything?"

She starts to draw breath to shriek something, undoubtedly insulting. I silence her with another twitch of my wand.

"Call for an Auror you trust, if any. She's in league with Skeeter and Umbridge, they struck a deal with the Fae out of jealousy and anger."

He gapes but quickly pulls himself together without asking a million questions, and sends a Patronus to Kingsley. I nod in approval, he's probably the best choice of the lot. While we wait I tell him what I've learned, after a quick _Muffliato_.

"How come you left the Aurors, Potter?" I have to ask. He seems almost competent in the role and he must have been close to the finish line of his training.

He shrugs. "Partly because of Ginny, partly because they were getting way too corrupt and wanted to use me as a figurehead without changing anything for real. It seemed better to play Quidditch for a while. Maybe it's time to give it a try again."

Kingsley arrives quickly, along with a colleague of his whose name might be Savage. Kingsley appears a bit surprised by the gathering but quickly collects himself. After ascertaining that Savage is trustworthy enough I again recount the details I have learned so far.

"So you're saying we get to take out Umbridge, the Ministry and Skeeter all at once? Count me in, Snape," Savage says and grins, well, savagely.

I nod but personally have another destination in mind. "I'm not joining you. Go back to York, I suspect some people will gather there, and then take out the rot in the Ministry. Gather those you can trust. The witches will help out, I'm certain, if you contact Madam Longbottom. Potter, come with me, I'll hand you some potions."

The Aurors take Molly Weasley into custody, for questioning over unlawful tampering with Fae magic and just being a vindictive shrew, and I take Potter along back to my shop.

Two wands meet me when I enter the Apothecary, but Lovegood and Mrs Potter quickly stow them away when they see us. I quickly pull out several potion vials for Potter, including a special batch of Veritaserum which will last longer and be much harder to resist. I doubt Molly has any tolerance to it but wouldn't put it past Umbridge, and who knows what Skeeter is up to. I also give him a few vials of Polyjuice and some standard healing potions just in case, and send him off to join Kingsley. His wife goes along with him, she was always quick with a wand so hopefully she will be able to help out.

"Now the Wrackspurts at the Ministry will go away, I hope," Lovegood says with a pleased smile. "I should be off, I'll tell Augusta hi from you both. Have fun."

She waves vaguely in my direction and heads out the door without further comments, and I am alone with Hermione again. She's standing off to the side, arms hugging herself, and looks at me warily.

I have no idea what to do, and thus resort to the most English of solutions. "Tea?"

Thankfully she nods and follows me to the sitting room upstairs where I busy myself with the kettle and pot while she browses my books.

"I've missed this, I think," she says, half to herself. "I didn't know I missed books."

The ones she is looking at are pretty safe. "You may read any you like on these shelves, I presume I don't have to tell you to be careful with them. Some of my other books are dangerous though so ask first."

"Of course." She shoots me a brief smile.

We settle in the couch and armchair by the fireplace and I light the fire and pour tea, grateful for something to do. The silence is uncomfortable. I have no idea what to say, what to do about all this.

Luckily she seems to know at least where to begin. "I don't remember exactly what happened," she says slowly. "I know I was mad at Ron again and told him we were done. A few days later they must have done the rite, and I found myself in York of all places."

"So Molly was driven by jealousy, but what about the others?" I ask over my cup.

"Umbridge… she had it in for me since her year at Hogwarts," she admits. "I lured her out to the Centaurs, if you recall. And Rita, well it's more or less the same there, I blackmailed her into writing a story on Harry using the truth for once. She's an Animagus and unregistered so I had some hold over her."

I snort and coax a few more details out of her, surprised by her viciousness even at such a young age. The dual heat from the tea and the fire is gradually allowing me to relax, a little, and her company is surprisingly nice.

The hour is growing late, I notice with some surprise later. "Do you… would you stay here? Or is there somewhere else you'd rather go?"

Tears well up in her eyes and I curse myself for being insensitive and immediately swoop in to sit next to her on the couch, rubbing her shoulders. "Let me rephrase that. For some reason, despite our shared past, I would very much like for you to stay."

She shakes her head. "I told you, I don't see you like you think I do. Do you really mean it?" She's leaning back a bit to be able to see my face better. I wipe her tears with my thumb, and she seems to lean into my touch.

I raise an eyebrow which elicits a giggle, for some reason. "Do you think I have the habit of saying things I don't mean?"

Taking a deep breath she meets my eyes again. "I want to stay, here. With you."

My heart soars and I cannot understand it, how come this witch has become so important to me in such a short time? In order to distract myself I show her the bedroom and bathroom, with her shampoo in it, and hand her an old Muggle t-shirt to sleep in.

"You can stay here, I'll take the couch."

She slips off to the bathroom and later after I've done the same I hear her calling from the bed.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Please… stay here? I don't want to be alone and I didn't mean to throw you out from your own bed."

I mean to protest but to be honest I don't want to. I merely nod and climb into bed after her, waving my wand to turn the lights out. I settle in near the edge to give her space but she shuffles closer, and I fall asleep with her head on my shoulder, my arm loosely on her hip.


	11. Would You Really

We fall into an odd routine the next few days. She helps out in the shop, assists with brewing and keeps track of the orders. Despite not having brewed properly in the five years since she left Hogwarts she doesn't make many mistakes when following the texts I indicate, and she asks relevant question when watching me prepare ingredients for the research brews. She has grown up, somewhere along the way, and is at least able to observe without asking two million questions. Together we manage to make some headway into the mountain of orders I have waiting for me, and with her around I don't have to lose focus whenever there's a customer coming to the shop while I'm in the middle of a complex brew.

Somehow it's easy to spend all my time with her. We cook together, or fetch takeaway. She curls up on the couch with a book while I read the latest Potions journal; we discuss magic, recent events, and books; she does the invoices while I order supplies. The nights, too. After that first night when I woke up curled around her, having slept the best sleep of my life, it becomes natural to share a bed. I haven't kissed her again. This, whatever it is, feels more important.

There isn't much in the press, it is as if Hermione Granger was never missing. Potter keeps us updated on the progress. They're still keeping Molly in custody and managed to find Rita Skeeter, but Umbridge is a bit trickier to nail down. Everyone thought her dead, or that she'd fled the country, but evidently that is not the case.

We go to meet with Weasley one evening. He goes all wide-eyed when he sees Hermione and looks a bit confused a couple of times but otherwise refrains from commenting, and I extract a rather nasty vow for him not to prank her. (_I would never dare_, he says to me in private. _She__'s brilliant but scary, you know that? A bit like you, Snape._ I cannot exactly disagree.) She's tense as well, sticking close to me, but relaxes as the evening passes, and has some input into our discussions about future products.

The following Sunday afternoon we are visited by an unusual trio. Lovegood shows up, followed by Narcissa and Minerva. They all seem jittery in that way one gets after too little sleep and too much action, hyper-focused and bone weary at the same time. Oddly enough it is Minerva who appears the most energetic, while Lovegood seems lethargic. I shuffle them upstairs and close the shop while Hermione has already put the kettle on. We wait in silence.

"You talked to the Fae," Hermione says once the tea is ready. Hermione is on a kitchen chair, Lovegood and Minerva sit on the couch, while Narcissa has requisitioned my armchair.

It is not a question, but it fits. I nod slowly. Lovegood as Maiden. Mother, that would be Narcissa, and then Minerva as… the other one.

Narcissa is the first to speak. "We did. The Fae agreed to assist us again, and the Aurors are rounding up Dolores Umbridge, the Minister and their cronies right now. As it turns out, the Minister is Umbridge's nephew, and he's been acting on her instructions all this time. They've been siphoning Galleons and magic off the everyone for years."

Narcissa then turns to Hermione which has me confused for a moment. "Augusta told us about all of this once the geas was lifted. She had heard of the deal since she's in regular contact with the Fae as the Utter Crone of the Coven, but she too was bound by its terms. When I learned the truth about you I had to do something to help. I still have nightmares about you and your friends in the Manor, and that event is a debt I can never repay you. I asked the Fae if they could do anything but I'm not sure it helped."

Hermione is pale but nods, shifting closer to me. "It was a long time ago, Mrs Malfoy," she says slowly, tracing her left arm with two fingers, roughly where my Dark Mark used to be. With a frown she pulls the sleeve back, but I cannot see anything unusual. Pale skin, a few freckles. "They did, oh they did, thank you Mrs Malfoy," she says and seems to be about to burst into tears.

"Call me Narcissa, please," the older woman says and pulls her into a hug.

Minerva continues the explanation. "They said they made the deal because they saw it would lead to a better future in the end, plus they got mead from it and… well, the use of Mr Weasley. I'm sure I don't want any details, but it didn't sound like they were too happy with him."

"You talked to them yesterday? It seemed like Molly and her gang needed a full moon and Stonehenge in order to communicate with them?" I have to ask, I don't know enough about the Fae.

Narcissa has resumed her seat and nods again. "The Fae do not actually bother with rituals, standing stones and specific times of the year. It was their idea of a practical joke, I think. You do need three witches, however, and a Bargain has to be made."

"What was the price?" Hermione interjects, sitting up straighter. She is looking at Narcissa but it is Minerva who answers.

"Well, I allowed them inside the borders of the Forbidden Forest, as long as the Centaurs agree," she says slowly. "I also promised to teach the students at Hogwarts about the Fae and Old Magick, and to strengthen the bonds between our two worlds that way. She granted me health again, as thanks. Luna, however, is the one more directly affected."

Lovegood yawns. She looks even more ephemeral than usual, somehow. "Don't worry, it was fun. I think it will be twins but it's a little early to tell. I'm a bit tired already, though."

She's pregnant, and knows already? The Fae were efficient, then. It should surprise me but doesn't, at the same time. "They will take the child, to raise? After it's born?"

Lovegood looks solemn. "Yes… I fear Neville won't understand, though." She yawns again.

Minerva looks concerned, and even Narcissa frowns briefly. After some more discussions they leave, Lovegood with a couple of vials of a pre-natal potion. Hermione doesn't say anything, and I wonder if this is the end. She doesn't need me any longer if the ones who cursed her are being held responsible for it. It is inevitable, anyway, her leaving. They all do, they always do. Better to preempt the pain.

"You're free to leave now," I say, crossing my arms in front of me as if to hold myself together. "You don't have to stay with me, they cannot hurt you any more."

"No!"

Her vehemence surprises me, and even more so when she walks up to me, grabbing the lapel of my robes.

"I don't remember everything but I know a few things at least," she says, holding me close to her, not that I'm resisting much. "I know that when you first arrived what you sought was recognition, for your work, your sacrifices and for yourself as a wizard. That was easy enough to fix. Then, you wanted to solve the mystery of who the Hair-ologist was, but you managed that more or less on your own since I couldn't give you any more hints. There's something more though, something deeper… what you really, really wanted, was not to be alone any more."

My arms come up to hold her and I close my eyes, it is too much. "What I want doesn't matter. It never has. You deserve more, something better than this."

"You're wrong, Severus," she says firmly. "I know what I want, and that is you. But if you don't want me…" She lowers her eyes and bites her lip, looking young and uncertain all of a sudden.

One of my hands comes up to tangle in her hair. It is soft to the touch, and seems to have a life of its own. My touch makes her look up at me again, and finally I know. It seems right.

"I used Legilimency on Molly. The Fae spoke of true love and pure intentions needed in order to break the geas. I don't understand this, I've never been in this situation before, but I think it is true. It could even be that. Love. What I want… If you would, I would have you stay here, with me. Help me at the workshop, gain a Potions Mastery if you wish, or study something else. Share my life." I take a deep breath. "Share my bed, even. Merlin, witch, I want you."

She smiles then, brilliantly, and yank my head down with a sharp tug at my hair to claim my lips again in a fierce kiss. It feels like life, like a future.

"Was that a yes?" I have to ask, some time later, breathless.

"Obviously," she drawls and requests another kiss.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

**A/N:** This is roughly where we'll end things! An epilogue left and then we're done. It was a fun story to write, I didn't expect it to need this many chapters but well that's where the story went. Thanks for tagging along for the ride! /AA


	12. Epilogue: Later

I yawn and stretch my back after finally finishing a long day in the lab where I have worked on another refinement of the Wolfsbane potion. It's nearly complete, I think, just need a final verification of the Arithmancy equations to be ready for testing at St Mungo's. Casting a stasis on it I head upstairs to fetch her from the office where she's been holed up for the past few months, preparing to defend her thesis in Arithmancy and soon thereafter, Potions. She's been working on them for a little over three years, which is blindingly fast for a double Mastery. Not that I've ever doubted her.

Her. Hermione. _Wife_. It still feels unreal, to have someone to call by that title.

Nodding at Aster Parkinson who is managing the shop floor I find Hermione in the office as expected, buried deep in tomes and parchment, her hair frizzier than ever. She has kept up her Hair-ologist business as well, setting up a treatment room in a former closet expanded to become a fully equipped room, but only accepts to help those she felt were worthy of it. Aster has been with us since leaving Hogwarts, and is doing well with both basic brewing and the business side of the Apothecary. Her older sister, my former student, is doing better as well, still working at the _Prophet_ in a more senior role and dating Neville Longbottom, of all people.

She gets up when she sees me and steals a kiss, before packing her most recent projects in her bag. The thing holds an impressive amount of stuff with the undetectable extension charm, but I'm most amazed by the fact that she actually finds things in it considering she must have half a household in it. About a year after she moved in with me we bought a cottage in a lazy hamlet in Kent, with room for potions gardens and a large library, obviously. It took us a while to negotiate leaving times and what to do when the other is immersed in work, but we seem to have found a balance that works for now.

We married quickly, in August not even a year after we met in fact, on the Longbottom estate at the suggestion of Augusta. It was small and intimate and just about perfect, and the Fae came to dance with us as the night fell. She's forced me to call her friends by their first names now, and most of them are actually bearable company. Luna comes over occasionally. She went to live with the Fae for a year after her children were born, and still visits them often. Harry and Ginny Potter are regular guests. He went back to the Aurors right after everything went down. Kingsley quickly regained the Minister position and has made radical changes to what was left of the Ministry, to clear out the corruption and wrongness that was left behind. Ginevra joined him as an aide of some kind and has quickly made a name for herself too, not only as Mrs Potter.

Neville also shows up occasionally and is still supplying me with potion ingredients from Hogwarts, but Augusta Longbottom passed about a year ago. She did have the chance to see Frank and Alice wake up, though. Alice unfortunately didn't survive but Frank lives, he went back to Hogwarts and now works as a gamekeeper there.

Minerva writes often but cannot get away from Hogwarts most of the time, so we try to visit a few times per semester. The Malfoys are thriving. Draco is a licensed perfumer these days, and the two elder Malfoys have reclaimed their place in society and politics, this time without the threat of a madman looming behind them. Narcissa has taken on the Wizengamot, claiming both the Black and Malfoy seats, and is apparently making a lot of changes to drag Wizarding society into a better state.

Hermione has finished packing, and we Apparate to the cottage. Our elf Dinky appears, flaps his ears at us and promptly serves a cottage pie for dinner. He came with the cottage, sort of, or maybe Augusta had something to do with it. I'm not entirely sure. One day he was there, refusing to move out.

Others have been less fortunate, although mostly of their own accord. Umbridge was, thankfully, sentenced to Azkaban and won't make it out in this lifetime. Rita Skeeter and Molly Weasley, however, were sentenced to society service for five years each, seeing as their actions were aimed at one individual rather than the whole of Wizarding society, and mainly driven by jealousy. They are also under a life-long ban to not go anywhere near Hermione, which is enforced by a Charmed ankle bracelet that will heat up in warning and then Apparate them away if they break the ban. One or both of them is working at a Ministry-run orphanage, and Rita has to wear another bracelet that stops her from shifting into her Animagus form.

The only other Weasley I'm in touch with is George, and the shop is doing well. I heard Ronald had a nervous breakdown not long after everything happened, saying something about wishing to become a monk and trying to hide whenever a woman approached him, but he is apparently doing better now and has returned to the Hogsmeade branch. Not that I care much, to be honest.

"You think too much, love," Hermione says.

I refocus my gaze on her again. Apparently we're done eating. "I was just thinking about everything that brought us here."

She smiles and reaches for my hand. "It's odd, isn't it? The Fae knew what they were doing, even if it was a bit convoluted. I don't regret it, but I'd like to think that we could have met anyway, if none of this had happened."

Warmth blossoms in my chest. I'm still not quite used to this, to being wanted. "It is not out of the question," I admit. I rise and pull her up from the chair, and we walk to the sitting room where Dinky has already started a fire. We settle on the couch, her head by my shoulder, her ridiculous hair tickling my nose.

"We could have met at a conference somewhere, you a brilliant speaker and I'd be sitting in the front row, taking notes. I'd insist on meeting up afterwards and…"

I snort. "More likely you would have presented something outrageous and brilliant and I would have tried to shoot you down with questions from the back of the room, and then offered you a drink later."

She giggles. "Why not both. Or an Order party to celebrate, say five years after the War, and I'd have fled to the library at Grimmauld where you inevitably are lurking already."

"I never lurk," I say loftily. "I merely choose a strategically optimal position."

She laughs, again, and pulls me to her for another kiss. Inspiration strikes and I proceed to demonstrate several other strategically optimal positions for mutual enjoyment.

Yes. Life is good, and I could never have foreseen this when Lucius dragged me to an appointment with the Hair-ologist three and a half years ago.


End file.
